• This story is going to require imagination on you, the reader's, part. Imagine (if you will) a tree with roots that reach from the ground into the sky, it's leaves are dark purple and grow from the ground like grass. The bark of this unearthly tree is dark in color, and smooth in texture, yet if a person were to look upon it for too long they would surely become ill, as though stricken with fever. Imagine (once again at your discretion) that built into the sky-bound roots of this tree is a child's play area, relatively small and shabby, but with a sense of innocence almost extinct from the current frame of society. While imagining such a wondrous sight, place the smallest and most whimsical boy inside that place (perhaps he's the visage of an old friend, or maybe a glance into the mirrors of your own past) and give him the most radiant smile ever seen, almost celestial in it's nature. Can you dare fathom such a fantasy?

    Now kill him, you're doing him a favor, we won't tell anyone. He doesn't belong where we're going, and to drag him along would be cruel. Don't let this experience ruin that smile, for he surely would never smile so bright after this trip. Can't you hear his plea beyond his crying?
    "Please" he says with his eyes, "Please make it quick".
    It's for his own good.
    You did the right thing.

    Build the inside of the tree house, place some common objects, maybe a comic book stack in the corner, perhaps some old marbles sitting lazily in an old chalk circle; simple objects you would find in any young boy's hideaway. Do you see the drawings on the wall, childish in nature?

    Do you see the one done in orange chalk?
    It sees you, and it wants to talk.
    They all do, each and every drawing has a story to tell, and now they have no keeper.
    You will listen, and you will not keep them from talking any longer.










    Story Twilight.
    God, my head hurts... Every time I close my eyes it's the same thing: the flash of light and the pain that follows. Each time I lay down I only hear the roaring in my own ears, and it keeps me awake more than any other noise could. When I sleep I dream in orange and red, and when I wake I find myself in a different room than when I fell asleep.
    The dreams are getting harder to maintain, and every now and then I break from my stupor and find myself staring at my bathroom sink, unaware of how I got there or what my reasons were. When I woke up last night I was in the middle of talking on the phone to nobody, ranting and raving like a maniac.
    The nosebleeds started two weeks ago and I still can't get the smell of blood out of my sinuses, the doctors tell me that it may be stress related, but that I should come in for a full run of tests.

    Story Green
    I held my arms to the sky, as if to hug it.
    My father left here at the park and told me that he and mommy would be back later, but I saw the look in his eyes, and I saw the red on his shirt sleeve. He and mommy weren't coming back.
    I read in Ms. Schiller's class that everything likes hugs, so maybe if I hug the sky it won't turn red and yellow. The radio and videos all told us to stay and hide under our desks if this happened, but I'm going to hug the cloud and make friends with it.
    I see it!
    I'm going to stretch out my arms -fins- and give it a big hug.
    I'm going to hold my head -guidance chip- up and tell it that I want to be it's friend.
    When did it get so cold in the park -free fall-?
    .
    .
    .
    As I was falling, I saw a young boy hold his arms to me, and for a moment I dared dream to be him. After that I dreamt nothing.

    Story Yellow
    When I came to, the first thing that took my mind was the searing pain on the side of my face, and the cold of the air hitting my bare teeth through where my cheek should be; the second thing was the assortment of flesh nailed to the wall in front of me in the dingy bathroom, right above the toilet that I was handcuffed to. Each piece had a number drawn on it with what looked like black marker. My mind clicked back on the details until it found what it wanted: her, Ms. Dorene Looler. I met her in a bar a few weeks back, we hit it off and went on a few dates (the movies, the park, a wild and romantic romp in the grass by the lake) but when it came time to talk about what we expected out of a relationship I quickly realized we wouldn't work out together. I wasn't looking to settle down, and she clearly was.
    We argued, and the last thing I remember was the fire poker breaking my jaw.
    Wait.
    That scar looks familiar.
    What is that sound?
    God it's so annoying.
    It's like a buzz, but louder.
    My uncle used to have a tool that sounded like that, he kept it in his workshop.
    It was an old thing, he used it to.... Oh God.
    The door opened as I turned my head, dressed in full scrubs stood Dorene; in her hands she carried a belt grinder with questionable stains on it, and the look in her eyes told me that she was going to enjoy however she was planning to use it.

    Story Purple
    I woke up this morning in front of a piece of paper covered in scribbles, my hand gripped like a vice on a pen I must have picked up and stashed away, for I didn't recognize it.
    The doctors did their tests, and I should be getting the results in the next two weeks.

    Story Red
    The bomb fell last week and the ash is still falling.
    We holed up in the church, but I can hear the roof creaking at night, cracking and giving way.
    The man who sleeps in the cot next to me told me that the Russians must have launched the attack, but the radio says that the attacks are hitting everyone. All of the major societies in the world have taken a hit, and nobody knows who's sending them.
    It's okay, the roof will hold, and we will rebuild.

    Story Blue
    The tests came back, I have a brain tumor the size of a golf ball sitting near my brain stem, with several others budding in my right frontal lobe and motor cortex. They can't operate.
    I keep dreaming of the child, and he keeps dying.
    I hope there is time left.

    Story White
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